


Harry Potter and the Mid-Life Crisis

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-18
Updated: 2005-10-18
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Harry likes growing older with Ron.





	Harry Potter and the Mid-Life Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Warnings: Multiple, past major character deaths mentioned, implied old people sex, fluff, straight!Draco.  
A/N: I had planned on writing some Harry/Ron to make up for the Harry/Ginny. You guys know how jealous Ron can be, and sharing Harry with his own sister?!!??? Yeah... So I meant to write some hot boysex, but I ended up with this little ficlet instead. Dedicated to [info]calliope14 and, of course, Ron. Enjoy

 

Sprawled, spread eagle. That’s how Ron sleeps. Harry has grown used to it over the years. In fact, being awakened by an arm lobbed clumsily across his chest, pulling him closer has become one Harry’s greatest treasures. It’s reassuring, life affirming even. After all that was lost in the War – friends, loved ones – that one small gesture reminds Harry of everything he still has, of what Voldemort was unable to take away.

Messy, crumbs all over the table. That’s how Ron eats. Harry has grown accustomed to that too, and points his wand and mutters Scourgify! without looking up from the Quidditch scores. He passes the butter and jam before Ron even asks. When you’ve known someone this long, there is no need for asking.

“Cannons lost, 350 to 140,” Harry says as Ron squints, reading a report for work at arm’s length. He desperately needs glasses, old people glasses, but he’s too stubborn to admit it.

“Nex’ year,” Ron mumbles, mouth full of toast. “You’ll see ‘Arry.”

Harry nods, he’s heard this before. Next year...

In piles, all over the floor. That’s where Ron leaves his clothes. A holey, faded Cannons sweatshirt, his Auror robes, an old jumper his mum made him for Christmas at least twelve Christmases ago. Ron’s a slob, but Harry loves him anyway. He sighs, taps on the hamper three times, and the clothes fly in, out of sight. Even though Harry complains and threatens to burn everything left on the floor (channeling Hermione, Ron says), it’s always that holey orange sweatshirt he sleeps in on nights when Ron is away.

Soft, squishy. That’s what Ron’s belly is becoming. Middle aged, but with the appetite of a teenager still. Harry rather likes Ron’s belly. It’s cute, and he likes the way Ron’s eyes roll back into his head when Harry rubs it after Ron has eaten too much. They joined a Muggle gym, but Ron couldn’t quite get the hang of the equipment. So Harry pokes Ron’s belly and Ron teases Harry about his bony chicken legs, and that’s how they like it.

It’s time for work, and Tonks has promised to skin Ron alive if he’s late again. It’s summer, so Harry doesn’t have any classes. He’s been teaching at Hogwarts for five years now -- Defense Against the Dark Arts. Before that he was an Auror and before that he played Quidditch for the Pride of Portree. Harry turned down the Headship of Gryffindor House, much to the surprise of Headmistress McGonagall. Neville is better with the kids anyway, and his home with Ginny is in Hogsmeade. Harry just likes coming home to Ron too much. It’s not like he needs the extra salary.

“Love you,” Ron says, as Harry clears the breakfast things. “Got another gray one there, mate.”

Harry leans down and kisses Ron’s growing bald spot. “Love you too,” he says. He likes growing older with Ron.

Like an old married couple. That’s what Draco calls them. Harry reminds him that they are an old married couple as they have their lunch at a little café in Diagon Alley. “You know, it’s funny, I never would have figured Ron to be a poofter while we were at Hogwarts,” Draco says. “A great big prat, sure. But gay? Never.”

But Ron’s not homosexual. He still looks at women. He’s Harry-sexual, or at least that’s what he says. Harry just smiles and shrugs and asks Draco how Pansy and the twins are doing.

It’s been twenty years since the defeat of Voldemort. They lost Hermione. They lost Fred. They lost Arthur Weasley. They lost Percy (he had been working for the Order all along). They lost Dean. They lost Professor Dumbledore. They lost Hagrid. They lost Sirius. Charlie lost his arm. Draco lost his family’s fortune. Remus lost two lovers to the war. Harry lost Seamus and Ron lost Luna, but they still had each other. Draco became a friend (that was Hermione’s doing). They got rid of Voldemort. They won the war. They were still alive. The scars had faded, yes, even the scar, but there are still wounds and nightmares and empty chairs. In the end, Harry is grateful for everything he has.

Strong, warm. That’s what Ron’s arms feel like when he embraces Harry after floo’ing home for the evening. They talk about their day. ‘Paper work!’ Ron moans, but Harry knows he really loves his job. Ron rolls his eyes when Harry tells him he met Draco for lunch. ‘Stupid git!’ Ron mutters. Some things never change. They make dinner, play some chess. Harry polishes his old Firebolt. It’s an evening like any other – ordinary, but precious.

Half-past ten, they crawl into bed. Harry reads for a bit, but is distracted by Ron’s big, flame colored head which has planted itself firmly in his lap. Harry strokes Ron’s hair absentmindedly and adjusts his glasses. Ron kisses Harry’s right thigh. Harry shifts a bit and clears his throat. Ron kisses Harry’s left thigh. Harry puts down his book. Nearly twenty years they’ve been together, but it’s just like that first time... desperate, hungry. Only now, things aren’t so awkward and they are more whole than broken.

Something happens to people after so many years. Sometimes it is indifference, boredom, apathy. Sometimes it is a bond that grows deeper, stronger, more binding with time. Squishy bellies, graying hair, chicken legs, shiny bald spots... time leaves her mark. But for Harry, every gray hair is a victory over evil and he delights in Ron’s belly and kisses the crow’s feet that have sprouted at the corners of his eyes. We’ve earned this, he thinks, and his hands and lips find all the familiar places that make Ron cry out in expletives and declarations of love.

“Harry Potter and the Mid-life Crisis,” Ron mutters as he tosses the Daily Prophet across breakfast the table, upsetting the jam jar and sending a piece of toast skidding to the floor.

Twenty years, and Harry is still front page news. The byline reads ‘Rita Skeeter’. Hasn’t she retired by now? The photo is of Harry and Ron, looking decidedly worse for wear, sunning on a beach in the south of France. Harry laughs. “More like, ‘Harry Potter and the Mid-life Triumph’, wouldn’t you say?’”

“Sure,” Ron says, gulping down his tea and getting up from the table. “If by ‘triumph’ you mean ‘gone to seed’.”

“I do,” Harry says, patting Ron’s paunch.

“Love you,” Ron says, kissing Harry’s cheek.

“Love you too,” Harry says, carefully folding the paper. He’ll save it, he thinks... one more victory.


End file.
